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The Broken Wing 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
THE 

GOLDEN THRESHOLD 

INTRODUCTION BY 

ARTHUR SYMONS 
Portrait Frontispiece. Cloth. $j.oo net 

"The poems are exquisitely musical 
and they are genuine expressions of the 
mysterious heart of Asia." 

— Literary Digest. 

THE 

BIRD OF TIME 

SONGS OF LIFE, DEATH AND THE SPRING 
INTRODUCTION BY 

EDMUND GOSSE 
Portrait Frontispiece. Cloth. $i.oonet 

"Her folk-songs are rarely beautiful 
and her serious poems reveal a burning 
fervency that is fixed upon the pursuit 
of the eternal." — Review of Reviews. 

NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY 
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN 



The Broken Wing 

Songs of Love, Death & Destiny 

1915-1916 

SarojinTNaidu 



New York : John Lane Company 
London: William Heinemann 

MCMXVIl 






11/ 



Copyright, 1917, 
By John Lane Company 



41 : 






Press of 

J. J. Little & Ives Company 

New York, U. S. A. 



FEB 271917 

©aA457234 



s 



To the Dream of To- Day 

and 

The Hope of To-Morrow 



Foreword 

In the radiant and far-off yesterdays of our history, it 
was the sacred duty of Indian womanhood to kindle 
and sustain the hearth-fires, the beacon-fires and the 
altar-fires of the nation. 

The Indian woman of to-day is once more awake 
and profoundly alive to her splendid destiny as the 
guardian and interpreter of the Triune Vision of 
national life — the Vision of Love, the Vision of Faith, 
the Vision of Patriotism. 

Her renascent consciousness is everywhere striving 
for earnest expression in song or speech, service or self- 
sacrifice, that shall prove an offering not unworthy of 
the Great Mother in the eyes of the world that honour 
her. 

Poignantly aware of the poverty of my gift, I still 

venture to make my offering with joined palms uplifted 

in a Salutation of Song. 

SAROJINI NAIDU. 
Hyderabad, Deccan, 191 6 



I offer all due acknowledgments to the editors of 

the various European and Oriental journals in 

which my poems have appeared. 



Contents 



The Broken Wing 

Songs of Life and Death page 

The Broken Wing I5 

The Gift of India i7 

The Temple I9 

Lakshmi, the Lotus-born 21 

The Victor 23 

The Imam Bara 25 

A Song from Shiraz 27 

Imperial Delhi 29 

Memorial Verses 

I. Ya Mahbub! 30 

II. Gokhale 32 

III. In Salutation to my Father's Spirit 33 

The Flute-player of Brindaban 34 

Farewell 36 

9 



PAGE 

The Challenge 38 

Wandering Beggars 39 

The Lotus 41 

The Prayer of Islam 42 

Bells 44 

The Garden Vigil 46 

Invincible 48 

The Pearl 49 

Three Sorrows 5^ 

Kali the Mother 52 

Awake ! 55 

The Flowering Year 

The Call of Spring 59 

The Coming of Spring 61 

The Magic of Spring 63 

Summer Woods 64 

June Sunset 66 

The Time of Roses 68 

The Peacock-Lute : Songs for Music 

Silver Tears 73 

Caprice 74 

Destiny 75 

Ashoka Blossom 76 
10 



PAGE 

Atonement 77 

Longing 78 

Welcome 80 

The Festival of Memory 81 

The Temple: A Pilgrimage of Love 

I. The Gate of Delight 

1. The Offering 85 

2. The Feast 86 

3. Ecstasy 87 

4. The Lute-Song 89 

5. If You Call Me 91 

6. The Sins of Love 92 

7. The Desire of Love 94 

8. The Vision of Love 95 

II. The Path of Tears 

1. The Sorrow of Love 97 

2. The Silence of Love 98 

3. The Menace of Love lOO 

4. Love's Guerdon 102 

5. If You Were Dead 103 

6. Supplication 105 

7. The Slayer 107 

8. The Secret 108 

II 



III. The Sanctuary page 

1. The Fear of Love 109 

2. The Illusion of Love III 

3. The Worship of Love 112 

4. Love Triumphant ii3 

5. Love Omnipotent 114 

6. Love Transcendent 116 

7. Invocation 118 

8. Devotion 120 



12 



The Broken Wing 

Songs of Life and Death 



13 



The Broken Wing 

^'Why should a song-bird like you have a broken wingT' 

G. K. GOKHALE 

Question 
The great dawn breaks, the mournful night is past, 
From her deep age-long sleep she wakes at last! 
Sweet and long-slumbering buds of gladness ope 
Fresh lips to the returning winds of hope, 
Our eager hearts renew their radiant flight 
Towards the glory of renascent light, 
Life and our land await their destined spring . , . 
Song-bird why dost thou bear a broken wing? 

Answer 
Shall spring that wakes mine ancient land again 
Call to my wild and suffering heart in vain? 
Or Fate's blind arrows still the pulsing note 
Of my far-reaching, frail, unconquered throat ? 

15 



Or a weak bleeding pinion daunt or tire 
My flight to the high realms of my desire? 
Behold! I rise to meet the destined spring 
And scale the stars upon my broken wing! 



i6 



The Gift of India 

Is there aught you need that my hands withhold, 
Rich gifts of raiment or grain or gold? 
Lo! I have flung to the East and West 
Priceless treasures torn from my breast, 
And yielded the sons of my stricken womb 
To the drum-beats of duty, the sabres of doom. 

Gathered like pearls in their alien graves 

Silent they sleep by the Persian waves, 

Scattered like shells on Egyptian sands. 

They lie with pale brows and brave, broken hands. 

They are strewn like blossoms mown down by chance 

On the blood-brown meadows of Flanders and France. 

Can ye measure the grief of the tears I weep 
Or compass the woe of the watch I keep? 

17 



Or the pride that thrills thro' my heart's despair, 
And the hope that comforts the anguish of prayer? 
And the far sad glorious vision I see 
Of the torn red banners of Victory? 

When the terror and tumult of hate shall cease 

And life be refashioned on anvils of peace, 

And your love shall ofifer memorial thanks 

To the comrades w^ho fought in your dauntless ranks, 

And you honour the deeds of the deathless ones 

Remember the blood of thy martyred sons! 

August 1 91 5 



18 



The Temple 

Priest 

Awake, it is Love's radiant hour of praise! 
Bring new-blown leaves his temple to adorn, 
Pomegranate-buds and ripe sirisha-sprays, 
Wet sheaves of shining corn. 

Pilgrim 

O priest/ only my broken lute I bring 
For Lovers praise-offering/ 

Priest 
Behold! the hour of sacrifice draws near. 
Pile high the gleaming altar-stones of Love 
With delicate burdens of slain woodland deer 
And frail white mountain dove: 

19 



Pilgrim 

O priest/ only my njuounded heart I bring 
For Lovers blood-offering! 

Priest 
Lo! now it strikes Love's solemn hour of prayer, 
Kindle with fragrant boughs his blazing shrine, 
Feed the sweet flame with spice and incense rare 
Curds of rose-pastured kine. 

Pilgrim 

O priest! only my stricken soul I bring 
For Lovers burnt-offering! 



20 



Lakshmi, the Lotus-Born 

Goddess of Fortune 

Thou who didst rise like a pearl from the ocean, 
Whose beauty surpasseth the splendour of morn! 
Lo! We invoke thee with eager devotion, 
Hearken, O Lotus-born! 

Come! with sweet eyelids and fingers caressing, 
With footfalls auspicious our thresholds adorn, 
And grant us the showers and the sheaves of thyblessing, 
Hearken, O Lotus-born! 

Prosper our cradles and kindred and cattle. 
And cherish our hearth-fires and coffers and corn, 
O watch o'er our seasons of peace and of battle, 
Hearken, O Lotus-born! 

21 



For our dear Land do we offer oblation, 
O keep thou her glory unsullied, unshorn, 
And guard the invincible hope of our nation, 
Hearken, O Lotus-born! 



Lakshmi Pu'ja Day, 1915 



22 



The Victor 



They brought their peacock-lutes of praise 

And carven gems in jasper trays, 

Rich stores of fragrant musk and myrrh, 

And wreaths of scarlet nenuphar . . . 

I had no offering that was meet, 

And bowed my face upon his feet. 

They brought him robes from regal looms. 

Inwrought with pearl and silver blooms, 

And sumptuous footcloths broidered 

With beetle-wings and gleaming thread • . . 

I had no offering that was meet, 

And spread my hands beneath his feet. 

They filled his courts with gifts of price, 
With tiers of grain and towers of spice, 

23 



Tall jars of golden oil and wine, 
And heads of camel and of kine . 
I had no offering that was meet, 
And laid my life before his feet. 



24 



The Imam Bara 

Of Lucknow 
I 

Out of the sombre shadows, 
Over the sunlit grass, 
Slow in a sad procession 
The shadowy pageants pass 
Mournful, majestic, and solemn. 
Stricken and pale and dumb, 
Crowned in their peerless anguish 
The sacred martyrs come. 
Hark, from the brooding silence 
Breaks the wild cry of pain 
Wrung from the heart of the ages 
All/ Hassan! Hussain! 



25 



II 

Come from this tomb of shadows 



Come from this tragic shrine 
That throbs with the deathless sorrow 
Of a long-dead martyr line. 
Love! let the living sunlight 
Kindle your splendid eyes 
Ablaze with the steadfast triumph 
Of the spirit that never dies. 
So may the hope of new ages 
Comfort the mystic pain 
That cries from the ancient silence 
AH! Hassan! H us sain! 



The Imam Bara is a Chapel of Lamentation 
ivhere Mussulmans of the Shiah Community 
celebrate the tragic martyrdom of AH, Has- 
san, and Hussain, during the mourning 
month of Moharram. A sort of passion- 
play takes place to the accompaniment of 
the refrain, Ali! Hassan! Hussain! 



26 



• • • 



A Song from Shiraz 

The singers of Shiraz are feasting afar 
To greet the Nauraz with sarang and cithar 
But what is their music that calleth to me, 
From glimmering garden and glowing minar? 

The stars shall be scattered like jewels of glass, 
And Beauty be tossed like a shell in the sea, 
Ere the lutes of their magical laughter surpass 
The lutes of thy tears, O Mohamed AH! 

From the Mosque-towers of Shiraz ere daylight begin 
My heart is disturbed by the loud muezzin, 
But what is the voice of his warning to me, 
That waketh the world to atonement of sin? 



27 



The stars shall be broken like mirrors of brass, 
And Rapture be sunk like a stone in the sea, 
Ere the carpet of prayer or of penance surpass 
Thy carpet of dreams, O Mohamed AH! 

In the silence of Shiraz my soul shall await, 
Untroubled, the wandering Angel of Fate. . . . 
What terror or joy shall his hands hold for me, 
Who bringeth the goblet of guerdon too late? 

The stars shall be mown and uprooted like grass, 
And glory be flung like a weed in the sea. 
Ere the goblet of doom or salvation surpass 
Thy goblet of love, O Mohamed Alt! 



28 



Imperial Delhi 

Imperial City! dowered with sovereign grace 
To thy renascent glory still there clings 
The splendid tragedy of ancient things, 
The regal woes of many a vanquished race; 
And memory's tears are cold upon thy face 
E'en while thy heart's returning gladness rings 
Loud on the sleep of thy forgotten kings, 
Who in thine arms sought Life's last resting-place. 

Thy changing kings and kingdoms pass away 
The gorgeous legends of a by-gone day. 
But thou dost still immutably remain 
Unbroken symbol of proud histories, 
Unageing priestess of old mysteries 
Before whose shrine the spells of Death are vain. 

1912 

29 



Memorial Verses 

I. Ya Mahbub ! * 

Are these the streets that I used to know — 

Was it yesterday or aeons ago? 

Where are the armies that used to wait — 

The pilgrims of Love — at your palace gate? 

The joyous paeans that thrilled the air 

The pageants that shone thro' your palace square? 

And the minstrel music that used to ring 

Thro' your magic kingdom . . . when you were king? 

O hands that succoured a people's need 
With the splendour of Haroun-al-Rasheed! 

*"Ya Mahhub," luhich means O Beloved, was 
the device on the State banner of the late Nizam 
of Hyderabad, Mir Mahbub AH Khan, the ivell- 
beloved of his people. 

30 



O heart that solaced a sad world's cry 

With the sumptuous bounty of Hatim Tai! 

Where are the days that were winged and clad 

In the fabulous glamour of old Baghdad, 

And the bird of glory that used to sing 

In your magic kingdom . . . when you were king? 

• ••••• 

O king, in your kingdom there is no change, 

'Tis only my soul that hath grown so strange. 

So faint with sorrow it cannot hear 

Aught save the chant at your rose-crowned bier. 

My grieving bosom hath grown too cold 

To clasp the beauty it treasured of old, 

The grace of life and the gifts of spring, 

And the dreams I cherished . . . when you were king! 

August 2% 191 1 



31 



II. Gokhale * 

Heroic Heart! lost hope of all our days! 
Need'st thou the homage of our love or praise? 
Lo! let the mournful millions round thy pyre 
Kindle their souls with consecrated fire 
Caught from the brave torch fallen from thy hand, 
To succour and to serve our suffering land 
And in a daily worship taught by thee 
Upbuild the temple of her Unity. 

February 19, 1915 



* Gopal Krishna Gokhale, the great saint 
and soldier of our national righteousness. 
His life ivas a sacrament, and his death ivas 
a sacrifice in the cause of Indian unity. 



32 



III. In Salutation to my Father's Spirit 

Aghorenath Chattopadhyay 

Farewell^ farewell, O brave and tender Sage. 
O mystic jester, golden-hearted Child! 
Selfless, serene, untroubled, unbeguiled 
By trivial snares of grief and greed or rage; 
O splendid dreamer in a dreamless age 
Whose deep alchemic vision reconciled 
Time's changing message with the undefiled 
Calm wisdom of thy Vedic heritage! 

Farewell, great spirit, without fear or flaw, 
Thy life was love and liberty thy law, 
And Truth thy pure imperishable goal . . • 
All hail to thee in thy transcendant flight 
From hope to hope, from height to heav'nlier 

height, 
Lost in the rapture of the Cosmic Soul. 

January 28, 191 5 

33 



The Flute- Player of Brindaban * 

Why didst thou play thy matchless flute 
'Neath the Kadamba tree, 

And wound my idly dreaming heart 
With poignant melody, 

So where thou goest I must go 
My flute-player with thee? 

Still must I like a homeless bird 

Wander, forsaking all 
The earthly loves and worldly lures 

That held my life in thrall, 
And follow, follow, answering 

Thy magical flute-call. 



* Krishna, the Dwine Flute-player of Brindaban, 
<who plays the tune of the Infinite that lures every 
Hindu heart aivay from mortal cares and attach- 
ments. 

34 



To Indra's golden-flowering groves 
Where streams immortal flow, 

Or to sad Yama's silent Courts 
Engulfed in lampless woe, 

Where'er thy subtle flute I hear 
Beloved I must go! 

No peril of the deep or height 
Shall daunt my winged foot; 

No fear of time-unconquered space, 
Or light untravelled route, 

Impede my heart that pants to drain 
The nectar of thy flute! 



35 



Farewell 

Farewell, O eager faces that surround me, 
Claiming the tender service of my days, 
Farewell, O joyous spirits that have bound me 
With the love-sprinkled garlands of your praise! 

O golden lamps of hope, how shall I bring you 
Life's kindling flame from a forsaken fire? 
O glowing hearts of youth, how shall I sing you 
Life's glorious message from a broken lyre? 

To you what further homage shall I render, 
Victorious City girdled by the sea, 
Where breaks in surging tides of woe and splendour 
The age-long tumult of Humanity? 

36 



Need you another tribute for a token 
Who reft from me the pride of all my years? 
Lo! I will leave you with farewell unspoken, 
Shrine of dead dream! O temple of my tears 1 



37 



The Challenge 

Thou who dost quell in thy victorious tide 
Death's ravaged secret and life's ruined pride, 
Shall thy great deeps prevail, O conquering Sea, 
O'er Love's relentless tides of memory? 



Sweet Earth, though in thy lustrous bowl doth shine 
The limpid flame of hope's perennial wine, 
Thou art too narrow and too frail to bear 
The harsh, wild vintage of my heart's despair. 

O valiant skies, so eager to uphold 
High laughing burdens of sidereal gold, 
Swift would your brave brows perish to sustain 
The radiant silence of my sleepless pain. 

38 



Wandering Beggars 



From the threshold of the Dawn 
On we wander, always on 
Till the friendly light be gone 
Y' Allah! r Allah! 

We are free-born sons of Fate, 
What care we for wealth or state 
Or the glory of the great? 
r Allah! r Allah! 

Life may grant us or withhold 
Roof or raiment, bread or gold, 
But our hearts are gay and bold. 
r Allah! r Allah! 



39 



Time is like a wind that blows, 
The future is a folded rose, 
Who shall pluck it no man knows, 
r Allah! r Allah! 



So we go a fearless band, 
The staff of freedom in our hand 
Wandering from land to land, 
r Allah! Y' Allah! 



Till we meet the Night that brings 
Both to beggars and to kings 
The end of all their journeyings, 
r Allah! Y' Allah! 



40 



The Lotus 

To M. K. Gandhi 

O MYSTIC Lotus, sacred and sublime, 
In myriad-petalled grace inviolate. 
Supreme o'er transient storms of tragic Fate, 
Deep-rooted in the waters of all Time, 
What legions loosed from many a far-off clime 
Of wild-bee hordes with lips insatiate, 
And hungry winds with wings of hope or hate, 
Have thronged and pressed round thy miracu- 
lous prime 
To devastate thy loveliness, to drain 
The midmost rapture of thy glorious heart . . . 
But who could win thy secret, who attain 
Thine ageless beauty born of Brahma's breath, 
Or pluck thine immortality who art 
Coeval with the Lords of Life and Death? 



41 



The Prayer of Islam 

We praise Thee, O Compassionate! 
Master of Life and Time and Fate, 
Lord of the labouring winds and seas, 
Ya Hameed! Ya Hafeez! 

Thou art the Radiance of our ways, 
Thou art the Pardon of our days, 
Whose name is known from star to star, 
Ya Ghani! Ya Ghaffar! 

Thou art the Goal for which we long, 
Thou art our Silence and our Song, 
Life of the sunbeam and the seed — 
Ya Wahab! Ya Waheed! 



42 



Thou dost transmute from hour to hour 
Our mortal weakness into power, 
Our bondage into liberty, 

Ya Quadeer! Ya Quavi! ' 

We are the shadows of Thy Light, 
We are the secrets of Thy might. 
The visions of thy primal dream, 
Y a Rahman! YaRaheem!* 

Id'UZ'Zoha, 191 5 



♦ These are some of the Ninety-nine Beautiful 
Arabic Names of God as used by followers of 
Islam. 



43 



Bells 



Anklet-bells 

Anklet-bells! frail anklet-bells! 
That hold Love's ancient mystery 
As hide the lips of limpid shells 
Faint tones of the remembered sea, 
You murmur of enchanted rites, 
Of sobbing breath and broken speech. 
Sweet anguish of rose-scented nights 
And wild mouths calling each to each 
Or mute with yearning ecstasy. 

Cattle-bells 

Cattle-bells 1 soft cattle-bells! 
What gracious memories you bring 
Of drowsy fields and dreaming wells, 



44 



And weary labour's folded wing, 
Of frugal mirth round festal fires, 
Brief trysts that youth and beauty keep. 
Of flowering roofs and fragrant byres 
White heifers gathered in for sleep, 
Old songs the wandering women sing. 

Temple-bells 

Temple-bells! deep temple-bells! 

Whose urgent voices wreck the sky! 

In your importunate music dwells 

Man's sad and immemorial cry 

That cleaves the dawn with wings of praise. 

That cleaves the dark with wings of prayer, 

Craves pity for our mortal ways. 

Seeks solace for our life's despair, 

'And peace for suffering hearts that die! 



45 



The Garden Vigil 

In the deep silence of the garden-bowers 
Only the stealthy zephyr glides and goes, 
Rifling the secret of sirisha flowers, 
And to the new-born hours 
Bequeathes the subtle anguish of the rose. 

Pain-weary and dream-worn I lie awake. 
Counting like beads the blazing stars overhead; 
Round me the wind-stirred champak branches shake 
Blossoms that fall and break 
In perfumed rain across my lonely bed. 

Long ere the sun's first far-off beacons shine, 
Or her prophetic clarions call afar, 
The gorgeous planets wither and decline. 
Save in its eastern shrine, 

Unquenched, unchallenged, the proud morning star. 
46 



O glorious light of hope beyond all reach! 

lovely symbol and sweet sign of him 
Whose voice I yearn to hear in tender speech 
To comfort me or teach, 

Before whose gaze thy golden fires grow dim! 

1 care not what brave splendours bloom or die 
So thou dost burn in thine appointed place, 
Supreme in the still dawn-uncoloured sky, 

And daily grant that I 

May in thy flame adore his hidden face. 



47 



Invincible 

O Fate, betwixt the grinding-stones of Pain, 
Tho' you have crushed my life like broken grain, 
Lo! I will leaven it with my tears and knead 
The bread of Hope to comfort and to feed 
The myriad hearts for whom no harvests blow 
Save bitter herbs of woe. 

Tho' in the flame of sorrow you have thrust 
My flowering soul and trod it into dust, 
Behold, it doth reblossom like a grove 
To shelter under quickening boughs of Love 
The myriad souls for whom no gardens bloom 
Save bitter buds of doom. 



48 



The Pearl 

How long shall it suffice 

Merely to hoard in thine unequalled rays 
The bright sequestered colours of the sun, 
O pearl above all price, 

And beautiful beyond all need of praise, 
World-coveted but yet possessed of none, 
Content in thy proud self-dominion? 

Shall not some ultimate 

And unknown hour deliver thee, and attest 
Life's urgent and inviolable claim 
To bind and consecrate 

Thy glory on some pure and bridal breast, 
Or set thee to enhance with flawless flame 
A new-born nation's coronal of fame? 



49 



Or wilt thou self-denied 

Forego such sweet and sacramental ties 
As weld Love's delicate bonds of ecstasy, 
And in a barren pride 

Of cold, unfruitful freedom that belies 
The inmost secret of fine liberty 
Return unblest into the primal sea? 



50 



Three Sorrows 



How shall I honour thee, O sacred grief? 
Fain would my love transmute 
My suffering into music and my heart 
Into a deathless lute! 

How shall I cherish thee, O precious pain? 
Fain would my trembling hand 
Fashion and forge of thee a deathless sword 
To serve my stricken land! 

And thou, sweet sorrow, terrible and dear, 
Most bitter and divine? 
O I will carve thee with deep agony 
Into a deathless shrine! 



51 



Kali the Mother 



All Voices: 



O TERRIBLE and tender and divine! 
O mystic mother of all sacrifice, 
We deck the sombre altars of thy shrine 
With sacred basil leaves and saffron rice; 
All gifts of life and death we bring to 
thee, 

JJma Haimavati! 



Maidens: We bring thee buds and berries from the 

wood! 



Brides: 



We bring the rapture of our bridal 
prayer! 



Mothers: And we the sweet travail of mother- 
hood! 

52 



Widows: And we the bitter vigils of despair! 

All Voices: All gladness and all grief we bring to 

thee, 

Ambika! Parvati! 

Artisans: We bring the lowly tribute of our toil! 

Peasants: We bring our new-born goats and 

budded wheat! 



Victors: And we the swords and symbols of our 

spoil! 

Vanquished: And we the shame and sorrow of defeat! 

All Voices: All triumph and all tears we bring to thee, 

Girijaf Shambhavi! 

Scholars: We bring the secrets of our ancient arts. 



Priests: 



We bring the treasures of our ageless 
creeds. 



Poets: 



And we the subtle music of our hearts. 



53 



Patriots: And we the sleepless worship of our 

deeds. 

All Voices: All glory and all grace we bring to thee, 

Kali! Maheshwari! ^ 



* These are some of the many names of Kali the 
Eternal Mother of Hindu worship. 



54 



Awake ! * 

To Mohamed AH Jinnah 

Waken, O mother! thy children implore thee, 
Who kneel in thy presence to serve and adore thee! 
The night is aflush with a dream of the morrow, 
Why still dost thou sleep in thy bondage of sorrow? 
Awaken and sever the woes that enthral us, 
And hallow our hands for the triumphs that call us! 

Are we not thine, O BelovM, to inherit 
The manifold pride and power of thy spirit? 
Ne'er shall we fail thee, forsake thee or falter, 
Whose hearts are thy home and thy shield and thine 

altar. 
Lo! we would thrill the high stars with thy story, 
And set ihee again in the forefront of glory. 

* Recited at the Indian National Congress, 191 5 

55 



Hindus: Mother! the flowers of our worship have 

crowned thee! 

Parsis: Mother! the flame of our hope shall 

surround thee! 

Mussulmans :Mot\\tv\ the sword of our love shall 

defend thee! 

Christians: Mother! the song of our faith shall 

attend thee! 

All Creeds: Shall not our dauntless devotion avail 

thee? 
Hearken! O queen and O goddess, we 
hail thee! 



56 



The Flowering Year 



'A light of laughing fiovjers along the grass is spread" 

Shelley 



57 



The Call of Spring 

To Padmaja and Lilamani 

Children, my children, the spring wakes anew, 
And calls through the dawn and the daytime 
For flower-like and fleet-footed maidens like you, 
To share in the joy of its play-time. 

O'er hill-side and valley, through garden and grove, 
Such exquisite anthems are ringing 
Where rapturous bulbul and maina and dove 
Their carols of welcome are singing. 

I know where the ivory lilies unfold 

In brooklets half-hidden in sedges. 

And the air is aglow with the blossoming gold 

Of thickets and hollows and hedges. 

59 



I know where the dragon-flies glimmer and glide, 
And the plumes of wild peacocks are gleaming, 
Where the fox and the squirrel and timid fawn hide 
And the hawk and the heron lie dreaming. 

The earth is ashine like a humming-bird's wing, 
And the sky like a kingfisher's feather, 
O come, let us go and play with the spring 
Like glad-hearted children together. 



60 



The Coming of Spring 

O Spring! I cannot run to greet 

Your coming as I did of old, 

Clad in a shining veil of gold, 
With champa-buds and blowing wheat 
And silver anklets on my feet. 

Let others tread the flowering ways 

And pluck new leaves to bind their brows, 
And swing beneath the quickening boughs 

A bloom with scented spikes and sprays 

Of coral and of chrysoprase. 

But if against this sheltering wall 
I lean to rest and lag behind, 
Think not my love untrue, unkind, 

Or heedless of the luring call 

To your enchanting festival. 

61 



Sweet! I am not false to you — 

Only my weary heart of late 
Has fallen from its high estate 
Of laughter and has lost the clue 
To all the vernal joy it knew. 

There was a song I used to sing — 
But now I seek in vain, in vain 
For the old lilting glad refrain- 

1 have forgotten everything — 
Forgive me, O my comrade Spring! 

Vasant Panchami Day, 1916 



62 



The Magic of Spring 

I BURIED my heart so deep, so deep, 

Under a secret hill of pain, 

And said, ^^O broken pitiful thing. 

Even the magic spring 

Shall ne'er awake thee to life again, 

Tho' March woods glimmer with opal rain 

And passionate koels sing." 

The kimshuks burst into dazzling flower, 
The seemuls burgeoned in crimson pride, 
The palm-groves shone with the oriole's wing, 
The koels began to sing. 

And soft clouds broke in a twinkling tide . . . 
My heart leapt up in its grave and cried, 
'*Is it the spring, the spring?^' 



63 



Summer Woods 

O I AM tired of painted roofs and soft and silken floors, 
And long for wind-blown canopies of crimson gul- 
mohurs! 



O I am tired of strife and song and festivals and fame, 
And long to fly where cassia-woods are breaking into 
flame. 

Love, come with me where koels call from flowering 

glade and glen. 
Far from the toil and weariness, the praise and prayers 

of men. 



64 



O let us fling all care away, and lie alone and dream 
'Neath tangled boughs of tamarind and molsari and 
neemf 

And bind our brows with jasmine sprays and play on 
carven flutes, 

To wake the slumbering serpent-kings among the ban- 
yan roots. 

And roam at fall of eventide along the river's brink, 
And bathe in water-lily pools where golden panthers 
drink! 

You and I together, Love, in the deep blossoming 

woods 
Engirt with low-voiced silences and gleaming solitudes, 

Companions of the lustrous dawn, gay comrades of 

the night. 
Like Krishna and like Radhika, encompassed with 

delight. 

65 



June Sunset 

Here shall my heart find its haven of calm, 
By rush-fringed rivers and rain-fed streams 
That glimmer thro' meadows of lily and palm. 
Here shall my soul find its true repose 
Under a sunset sky of dreams 
Diaphanous, amber and rose. 
The air is aglow with the glint and whirl 
Of swift wild wings in their homeward flight, 
Sapphire, emerald, topaz, and pearl. 
Afloat in the evening light. 

A brown quail cries from the tamarisk bushes 

A bulbul calls from the cassia-plume, 

And thro' the wet earth the gentian pushes 

Her spikes of silvery bloom. 
66 



Where'er the foot of the bright shower passes 
Fragrant and fresh delights unfold; 
The wild fawns feed on the scented grasses, 
Wild bees on the cactus-gold. 

An ox-cart stumbles upon the rocks, 

And a wistful music pursues the breeze 

From a shepherd's pipe as he gathers his flocks 

Under the pipal-trees. 

And a young Banjara driving her cattle 

Lifts up her voice as she glitters by 

In an ancient ballad of love and battle 

Set to the beat of a mystic tune, 

And the faint stars gleam in the eastern sky 

To herald a rising moon. 



67 



The Time of Roses 



Love, it is the time of roses! 
In bright fields and garden closes 
How they burgeon and unfold! 
How they sweep o'er tombs and towers 
In voluptuous crimson showers 
And untrammelled tides of gold! 

How they lure wild bees to capture 
All the rich mellifluous rapture 
Of their magical perfume, 
And to passing winds surrender 
And their frail and dazzling splendour 
Rivalling your turban-plume! 

How they cleave the air adorning 
The high rivers of the morning 



68 



In a blithe, bejewelled fleet! 
How they deck the moonlit grasses 
In thick rainbow tinted masses 
Like a fair queen's bridal sheetl 

Hide me in a shrine of roses, 
Drown me in a wine of roses 
Drawn from every fragrant grovel 
Bind me on a pyre of roses, 
Burn me in a fire of roses. 
Crown me with the rose of Love! 



69 



The Peacock-Lute 

Songs for Music 



"Iram's soft lute, 'with sorroiv in its strings" 

Omar Khayyam 



71 



Silver Tears 



Many tributes Life hath brought me, 

Delicate and touched with splendour . • . 

Of all gracious gifts and tender 

She hath given no gift diviner 

Than your silver tears of sorrow ^ 

For my wild heart's suffering. 

Many evils Time hath wrought me, 
Happiness and health hath broken . . . 
Of all joy or grief for token 
He hath left no gift diviner 
Than your silver tears of Sorrow 
For my wild heart's suffering. 



73 



Caprice 



You held a wild-flower in your finger-tips, 
Idly you pressed it to indifferent lips, 
Idly you tore its crimson leaves apart, . . 
Alas! it was my heart. 

You held a wine-cup in your finger-tips, 
Lightly you raised it to indifferent lips. 
Lightly you drank and flung away the bowl . . . 
Alas! it was my soul. 



74 



Destiny 



It chanced on the noon of an April day 
A dragon-fly passed in its sunward play 
And furled his flight for a passing hour 
To drain the life of a passion-flower. . . . 
Who cares if a ruined blossom die, 
O bright blue wandering dragon-fly? 

Love came, with his ivory flute, 

His pleading eye, and his winged foot. 

"I am weary," he murmured; '^O let me rest 

In the sheltering joy of your fragrant breast." 

At dawn he fled and he left no token. . . . 

Who cares if a woman's heart be broken? 



75 



Ashoka Blossom 



If a lovely maiden's foot 
Treads on the Ashoka root, 
Its glad branches sway and swell, 
So our eastern legends tell, 
Into gleaming flower, 
Vivid clusters golden-red 
To adorn her brow or bed 
Or her marriage bower. 

If your glowing foot be prest 

O'er the secrets of my breast, 

Love, my dreaming head would wake, 

And its joyous fancies break 

Into lyric bloom 

To enchant the passing world 

With melodious leaves unfurled 

And their wild perfume. 



76 



Atonement 

Deep in a lonely garden on the hill, 

Lulled by the low sea-tides, 
A shadow set in shadows, soft and still, 
A wandering spirit glides, 
Smiting its pallid palms and making moan 
O let my Love atone! 

Deep in a lonely garden on the hill 

Among the fallen leaves 
A shadow lost in shadows, vague and chill, 
A wandering spirit grieves. 
Beating its pallid breast and making moan 
O let my Death atone! 



77 



Longing 



Round the sadness of my days 
Breaks a melody of praise 
Like a shining storm of petals, 
Like a lustrous rain of pearls, 
From the lutes of eager minstrels, 
From the lips of glowing girls. 

Round the sadness of my nights 
Breaks a carnival of lights. . . . 
But amid the gleaming pageant 
Of life's gay and dancing crowd 
Glides my cold heart like a spectre 
In a rose-encircled shroud. 

Love, beyond these lonely years 
Lies there still a shrine of tears. 



78 



A dim sanctuary of sorrow 
Where my grieving heart may rest, 
And on some deep tide of slumber 
Reach the comfort of your breast? 



79 



Welcome 



Welcome, O fiery Pain! 
My heart unseared, unstricken, 
Drinks deep thy fervid rain, 
My spirit-seeds to quicken. 

Welcome, O tranquil Death! 
Thou hast no ills to grieve me, 
Who cam'st with Freedom's breath 
From sorrow^ to retrieve me. 

Open, O vast unknov^n, 
Thy sealed mysterious portals! 
I go to seek mine own, 
Vision of Love immortal. 



80 



The Festival of Memory 



Doth rapture hold a feast, 
Doth sorrow keep a fast 
For Love's dear memory 
Whose sweetness shall outlast 
The changing winds of Time, 
Secret and unsurpassed? 

Shall I array my heart 
In Love's vermeil attire? 
O shall I fling my life 
Like incense in Love's fire? 
Weep unto sorrow's lute? 
Dance unto rapture's lyre? 

What know the world's triune 
Of gifts so strange as this 

8i 



Twin-nurtured boon of Love, 
Deep agony and bliss, 
Fulfilment and farewell 
Concentred in a kiss? 

No worship dost thou need, 
O miracle divine! 
Silence and song and tears 
Delight and dreams are thine, 
Who mak'st my burning soul 
Thy sacrament and shrine. 



82 



The Temple 

A Pilgrimage of Love 



'My passion shall burn as the flame of Salvation, 
The floiver of my love shall become the ripe 
fruit of Devotion" 

Rabindranath Tagore 



83 



I. The Gate of Delight 

I. The Offering 

Were beauty mine, Beloved, I would bring it 
Like a rare blossom to Love's glowing shrine; 
Were dear youth mine, Beloved, I would fling it 
Like a rich pearl into Love's lustrous wine. 

Were greatness mine, Beloved, I would offer 
Such radiant gifts of glory and of fame, 
Like camphor and like curds to pour and proffer 
Before Love's bright and sacrificial flame. 

But I have naught save my heart's deathless passion 
That craves no recompense divinely sweet. 
Content to wait in proud and lowly fashion. 
And kiss the shadow of Love's passing feet. 

85 



2. The Feast 

Bring no fragrant sandal-paste, 
Let me gather, Love, instead 
The entranced and flowering dust 
You have honoured with your tread 
For mine eyelids and mine head. 

Bring no scented lotus-wreath 
Moon-awakened, dew-caressed; 
Love, thro' memory's age-long dream 
Sweeter shall my wild heart rest 
With your foot-prints on my breast. 

Bring no pearls from ravished seas, 
Gems from rifled hemispheres; 
Grant me. Love, in priceless boon 
All the sorrow of your years, 
All the secret of your tears. 
86 



3- Ecstasy 

Let spring illume the western hills with blossoming 

brands of fire, 
And awake with rods of budded flame the valleys of 

the south — 
But I have plucked you, O miraculous Flower of my 

desire, 
And crushed between my lips the burning petals of 

your mouth! 

Let spring unbind upon the breeze tresses of rich per- 
fume 

To lure the purple honey-bees to their enchanted 
death — 

But sweeter madness drives my soul to swift and 
sweeter doom 

For I have drunk the deep, delicious nectar of your 
breath! 

87 



Let spring unlock the melodies of fountain and of flood, 
And teach the winged wind of man to mock the wild 

bird's art, 
But wilder music thrilled me when the rivers of your 

blood 
Swept o'er the flood-gates of my life to drown my 

waiting heart! 



88 



4- The Lute-Song 

Why need you a burnished mirror of gold, 
O bright and imperious face? 
Mine eyes be the shadowless wells of desire 
For the sun of your glory and grace! 



Why need you the praises of ivory lutes, 
O proud and illustrious name? 
My voice be the journeying lute of delight 
For the song of your valour and fame! 



Why need you pavilions and pillows of silk, 
Soft foot-cloths of azure, O Sweet? 
My heart be your tent and your pillow of rest. 
And a place of repose for your feet! 



89 



Why need you sad penance or pardon or prayer 
For life's passion and folly and fears? 
My soul be your living atonement, O Love, 
In the flame of immutable years! 



90 



5. If You Call Me 



If you call me I will come 

Swifter, O my Love, 
Than a trembling forest deer 

Or a panting dove, 
Swifter than a snake that flies 

To the charmer's thrall . . . 
If you call me I will come 

Fearless what befall. 

If you call me, I will come 

Swifter than desire. 
Swifter than the lightning's feet 

Shod with plumes of fire. 
Life's dark tides may roll between, 

Or Death's deep chasms divide — 
If you call me I will come 

Fearless what betide. 

91 



6. The Sins of Love 



Forgive me the sin of mine eyes, 
O Love, if they dared for a space 
Invade the dear shrine of your face 
With eager, insistent delight, 
Like v^ild birds intrepid of flight 
That raid the high sanctuaried skies— 
O pardon the sin of mine eyes! 

Forgive me the sin of my hands. . • .; 
Perchance they v^ere bold overmuch 
In their tremulous longing to touch 
Your beautiful flesh, to caress. 
To clasp you, O Love, and to bless 
With gifts as uncounted as sands . . . 
O pardon the sin of my hands! 



92 



Forgive me the sin of my mouth, 
O Love, if it wrought you a wrong, 
With importunate silence or song 
Assailed you, encircled, oppressed. 
And ravished your lips and your breast 
To comfort its anguish of drouth 
O pardon the sin of my mouth! 

Forgive me the sin of my heart, 
If it trespassed against you and strove 
To lure or to conquer your love 
Its passionate love to appease. 
To solace its hunger and ease 
The wound of its sorrow or smart 
O pardon the sin of my heart! 



93 



7. The Desire of Love 



O COULD I brew my soul like wine 

To make you strong, 
O could I carve you Freedom's sword 

Out of my song! 

Instil into your mortal flesh 

Immortal breath, 
Triumphantly to conquer Life 

And trample Death. 

What starry height of sacrifice 

Were left untrod. 
So could my true love fashion you 

Into a God? 



94 



8. The Vision of Love 

O Love! my foolish heart and eyes 
Have lost all knowledge save of you, 
And everywhere — in blowing skies 
And flowering earth — I find anew 
The changing glory of your face 
The myriad symbols of your grace. 

To my enraptured sight you are 
Sovereign and sweet reality, 
The splendour of the morning star, 
The might and music of the sea, 
The subtle fragrance of the spring, 
Rich fruit of all Time's harvesting. 

O Love! my foolish soul and sense 
Have lost all vision save of you, 

05 



My sacred fount of sustenance 
From which my spirit drinks anew 
Sorrow and solace, hope and power 
From life to life and hour to hour. 

O poignant sword! O priceless crown, 
O temple of my woe and bliss! 
All pain is compassed by your frown, 
All joy is centred in your kiss. 
You are the substance of my breath 
And you the mystic pang of Death, 



96 



II. The Path of Tears 

I. The Sorrow of Love 

Why did you turn your face away? 

Was it for grief or fear 
Your strength would fail or your pride grow weak, 
If you touched my hand, if you heard me speak, 

After a life-long year? 

Why did you turn your face away? 

Was it for love or hate? 
Or the spell of that wild miraculous hour 
That hurled our souls with relentless power 

In the eddying fires of Fate? 

Turn not your face from me, O Love! 

Shall Sorrow or Death conspire 
To set our suffering spirits free 
From the passionate bondage of Memory 

Or the thrall of the old desire? 

97 



2. The Silence of Love 

Since thus I have endowed you with the whole 
Joy of my flesh and treasure of my soul, 
And your life debt to me looms so supreme, 
Shall my love wax ungenerous as to seem 
By sign or supplication to demand 
An answering gift from your reluctant hand? 

Give what you will ... if aught be yours to 

give! 
But tho' you are the breath by which I live 
And all my days are a consuming pyre 
Of unaccomplished longing and desire, 
How shall my love beseech you or beset 
Your heart with sad remembrance and regret? 

98 



Quenched are the fervent words I yearn to speak, 
And tho' I die, how shall I claim or seek 
From your full rivers one reviving shower, 
From your resplendent years one single hour? 
Still for Love's sake I am foredoomed to bear 
A load of passionate silence and despair. 



99 



3- The Menace of Love 

How long, O Love, shall ruthless pride avail you 
Or wisdom shield you with her gracious wing, 
When the sharp winds of memory shall assail you 
In all the poignant malice of the spring? 

All the sealed anguish of my blood shall taunt you 
In the rich menace of red-flowering trees ; 
The yearning sorrow of my voice shall haunt you 
In the low wailing of the midnight seas. 

The tumult of your own wild heart shall smite you 
With strong and sleepless pinions of desire. 
The subtle hunger in your veins shall bite you 
With swift and unrelenting fangs of fire. 

ICX) 



When youth and spring and passion shall betray you 
And mock your proud rebellion with defeat, 
God knows, O Love, if I shall save or slay you 
As you lie spent and broken at my feet! 



lOI 



4. Love's Guerdon 

Fierce were the wounds you struck me, O my Love, 
And bitter were the blows! . . . 
Sweeter from your dear hands all suffering 
Than rich love-tokens other comrades bring 
Of crimson oleander and of rose. 

Cold was your cruel laughter, O my Love, 
And cruel were your words! . . . 
Sweeter such harshness on your lips than all 
Love-orisons from tender lips that fall, 
And soft love-music of chakora-birds. 

You plucked my heart and broke it, O my Love, 
And bleeding, flung it down! . . . 
Sweeter to die thus trodden of your feet, 
' Than reign apart upon an ivory seat 
Crowned in a lonely rapture of renown. 
1 02 



5. If You Were Dead 



If you were dead I should not weep! 
How sweetly would my sad heart rest 
Close-gathered in a dreamless sleep 
Among the garlands on your breast, 
Happy at last and comforted 
If you were dead! 

For life is like a burning veil 
That keeps our yearning souls apart, 
Cold Fate a wall no hope may scale. 
And pride a severing sword, Sweetheart! 
And love a wide and troubled sea 
'Twixt you and me. 

If you were dead I should not weep- 
How sweetly would our hearts unite 



103 



In a dim, undivided sleep, 

Locked in Death's deep and narrow night, 

All anger fled, all sorrow past, 

O Love, at last! 



104 



6. Supplication 

Love, it were not such deep unmeasured wrong 
To wreck my life of youth and all delight, 
Bereave my days of sweetness and to blight 
My hidden wells of slumber and of song, 
Had your atoning mercy let me keep 
For sole and sad possession to assuage 
The loss of my heart's radiant heritage. 
Power of such blessed tears as mortals weep. 



But I, O Love, am like a withered leaf 
Burnt in devouring noontides of distress 
And tossed upon dim pools of weariness. 
Mute to the winds of gladness or of grief. 



105 



The changing glory of the earth and skies 
Kindles no answering tribute in my breast, 
My loving dead go streamwards to their rest 
Unhonoured by the homage of mine eyes. 

Restore me not the rapture that is gone, 
The hope forbidden and the dream denied. 
The ruined purpose and the broken pride, 
Lost kinship with the starlight and the dawn. 
But you whose proud, predestined hands control 
My springs of sorrow, ecstasy and power, 
Grant in the brief compassion of an hour 
A gift of tears to save my stricken soul! 



io6 



7. The Slayer 

Love, if at dawn some passer-by should say, 
"Lo! doth thy garment drip with morning dew? 
Thy face perchance is drenched with cold sea- 
spray. 
Thy hair with fallen rain?" 
Make answer: ''Nay, 
These be the death-drops from sad eyes I slew 
With the quick torch of painf* 

And if at dusk a reveller should cry, 
^ "What rare vermilion vintage hast thou spilled, 
Or is thy robe splashed with the glowing dye 
Of some bruised crimson leaf?" 

O Love reply: 
''These be the life-drops of a heart I killed 

With the swift spear of grief f^ 

107 



8. The Secret 

They come, sweet maids and men with shining tribute, 
Garlands and gifts, cymbals and songs of praise. . . . 
How can they know I have been dead, Beloved, 
These many mournful days? 

Or that my delicate dreaming soul lies trampled 
Like crushed ripe fruit, chance-trodden of your feet, 
And how you flung the throbbing heart that loved you 
To serve wild dogs for meat? 

They bring me safifron veils and silver sandals 
Rich crowns of honour to adorn my head — 
For none save you may know the tragic secret, 
O Love, that I am dead! 



1 08 



III. The Sanctuary 

I. The Fear of Love 

O COULD my love devise 
A shield for you from envious lips and eyes 
That desecrate the sweetness of your days 
With tumults of their praise! 

O could my love design 
A secret, sealed, invulnerable shrine 
To hide you, happy and inviolate, 
From covetous Time and Fate. 

Love, I am drenched with fear 
Lest the uncounted avarice of the year 
Add to the triumph of all garnered grace 
The rapture of your face! 

109 



I tremble with despair 

Lest the far-journeying winds and sunbeams 

bear 
Bright rumours of your luring brows and breath 
Unto the groves of Death. 

What sanctuary can I pledge 
Whose very love of you is sacrilege? 
O I would save you from the ravening fire 
Of my own heart's desire! 



no 



2. The Illusion of Love 

Beloved, you may be as all men say 

Only a transient spark 
Of flickering flame set in a lamp of clay — 
I care not . . . since you kindle all my dark 
With the immortal lustres of the day. 

And as all men deem, dearest, you may be 

Only a common shell 
Chance-winnowed by the sea-winds from the sea — 
I care not . . . since you make most audible 
The subtle murmurs of eternity. 

And tho' you are, like men of mortal race, 

Only a hapless thing 

That Death may mar and destiny efface — 

I care not . . . since unto my heart you bring 

The very vision of God's dwelling-place. 

III. 



3. The Worship of Love 

Crush me, O Love, betwixt thy radiant fingers 

Like a frail lemon leaf or basil bloom. 
Till aught of me that lives for thee or lingers 
Be but the wraith of memory's perfume, 
And every sunset wind that wandereth 
Grow sweeter for my death! 

Burn me, O Love! as in a glowing censer 

Dies the rich substance of a sandal grain^ 
Let my soul die till nought but an intenser 

Fragrance of my deep worship doth remain- 
And every tvvdlight star shall hold its breath 
And praise thee for my death! 



112 



4. Love Triumphant 

If your fair mind were quenched with dark distress, 
Your dear hands stained with fierce blood-guiltiness, 
Or your sweet flesh fell rotting from the bone. 
Should not my deep unchanging love atone 
And shield you from the sore decree of Fate 
And the world's storm of horror and of hate? 

What were to me your dire disease or crime, 
The scorn of men, the cold revenge of Time? 
Has life a suffering still I shall not dare, 
Love, for your sake to conquer or to bear, 
If I might yield you solace, succour, rest. 
And hush your awful anguish on my breast? 



113 



5. Love Omnipotent 

O Love, is there aught I should fail to achieve for your 
sake? 

Your need would invest my frail hands with invincible 
power 

To tether the dawn and the darkness, to trample and 
break 

The mountains like sea-shells, and crush the fair moon 
like a flower, 

And drain the wide rivers as dew-drops and pluck 
from the skies 

The sunbeams like arrows, the stars like proud im- 
potent eyes. 

O Love, is there aught I should fear to fulfil at your 

word? 
Your will my weak hands with such dauntless delight 

would endow 
114 



To capture and tame the wild tempest to sing like a 

bird, 
And bend the swift lightning to fashion a crown for 

your brow, 
Unfurl the sealed triumph of Time like a foot-cloth 

outspread, 
And rend the cold silence that conquers the lips of 

the dead. 



115 



6. Love Transcendent 

When Time shall cease and the world be ended 
And Fate unravel the judgment scroll, 
And God shall hear — by His hosts attended — 
The secret legend of every soul, 

And each shall pass to its place appointed, 
And yours to His inmost paradise, 
To sit encrowned mid the peace-anointed, 
O my saint with the sinless eyes! 

My proud soul shall be unforgiven 
For a passionate sin it will ne'er repent. 
And I shall be doomed, O Love, and driven 
And hurled from Heaven's high battlement. 

ii6 



Down the deep ages, alone, unfrightened, 
Flung like a pebble thro' burning space; 
But the speed of my fall shall be sweet and 

brightened 
By the memoried joy of your radiant face! 

Whirled like a leaf from aeon to aeon, 
Tossed like a feather from flame to flame, 
Love, I shall chant a glorious paean 
To thrill the dead with your deathless name. 

So you be safe in God's mystic garden, 
Inclosed like a star in His ageless skies, 
My outlawed spirit shall crave no pardon, 
O my saint with the sinless eyes! 



117 



7. Invocation 



Stoop not from thy proud, lonely sphere, 

Star of my Trust! 
But shine implacable and pure, 

Serene and just; 
And bid my struggling spirit rise 

Clean from the dust! 



Still let thy chastening wrath endure. 

O be thou still 
A radiant and relentless flame, 

A crucible 
To shatter and to shape anew 

My heart and will. 



ii8 



Still be thy scorn the burning height 

My feet must tread, 
Still be thy grief the bitter crown 

That bows my head, 
Thy stern, arraigning silences 

My daily bread! 

So shall my yearning love at last 

Grow sanctified, 
Thro' sorrow find deliverance 

From mortal pride. 
So shall my soul, redeemed, re-born, 

Attain thy side. 



119 



/ 

8. Devotion 

Take my flesh to feed your dogs if you choose, 
Water your garden-trees with my blood if you will, 
Turn my heart into ashes, my dreams into dust — 
Am I not yours, O Love, to cherish or kill? 

Strangle my soul and fling it into the fire! 
Why should my true love falter or fear or rebel? 
Love, I am yours to lie in your breast like a flower, 
Or burn like a weed for your sake in the flame of hell. 



1 20 



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